


late nights

by jemejem



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Andrew the midnight caller, Bartender!Andrew, M/M, POV Alternating, radio presenter au, radio show host au, radio show host!neil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemejem/pseuds/jemejem
Summary: Andrew knows something's missing: maybe the mellifluous over the radio can help define it for him.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 33
Kudos: 327





	1. anonymous

Andrew’s a night shift guy. He works behind the bar until three in the morning, sometimes four. When he gets behind the wheel, he wants silence that’ll contrast the charismatic din of Eden’s club, an absence of that reverberating bass.

You get used to the noise whilst at work. You get used to reading lips, taking orders without acknowledging you even heard what the club-goer said, or coordinating around the other bartenders.

Kevin says he’s wasting his life. He could do something with his double degree in communications and criminology. He could _be_ something, if he just put in an inkling of effort. Kevin was well on his way to having his own show. He’ll be a TV host in prime-time one day. He’s a Saturday night kind of guy. The public love him.

No one wanted shit all to do with Andrew, and he’s used to it being that way. He can’t remember it being any other way.

So he clambers into his car after every shift to go home and collapse into bed, only to do the same thing all over again.

Except this time he’s accidentally turned the radio on.

“… _I think you’ll like this one.”_ The presenter hummed. Andrew scoffed. Who was this fucker thinking he was talking to? “ _It’s got that barren road, lonely night mood. This is for all you night-shifters.”_

Andrew keeps the radio on. He’s curious.

The song is good. The presenter doesn’t butt in until the song’s actually ended, and there’s no advertisements between. Three songs play in succession, each as good as the last, and Andrew finds himself adding them to his playlist. It’s been a while since he’s found good, new songs.

 _“You’re with Neil Josten on Mid-Nights.”_ The presenter’s voice was a little melodic, a little rough. _“Stick around for Trucker Threads, where I call random truckers and see how long it’ll take for them to hang up on me.”_

Andrew pulled into the carpark of his quiet, Colombian home, but didn’t get out of the car.

That, in itself, was proof.

*

Neil had always found comfort in the radio. He had listened to it for hours as a child, when shut up in his room, or on the road with his mother, who’d never been the stagnant type. It was an escape.

Made sense, then, that Neil would ease into the role of a radio show host with surprising ease. Connections with Kevin Day made his life relatively easy: The man was already excelling, and all it took was a name-drop and Neil was in.

The producer of Columbian FM-OX, David Wymack, took one look at Neil’s scars and shabby clothes and practically adopted him. Neil didn’t mind: He worked behind the glass as sound assistant during prime-time shows. Renee held the breakfast slot, whilst Daily Dan did all the news segments and traffic. Matt took the lunch-time slot with his ‘Midday Mixers’ and Allison took up the rear with peak-hour traffic.

Neil’s night-shift gig was new but welcome. He was really enjoying himself, out of the limelight, controlling the board himself and having full control over the music. Wymack had supervised him, but really only stuck around if he was working overtime. He trusted Neil now.

And Neil was glad. He felt - good about his work. It was consistent but also ever-changing. It wasn’t daunting, like appearing as a television host would be: Kevin had tried to convince him to cohost on his show, but all it took was one look at Neil’s shaking frame that had him back tracking.

His father was gone, but his shadow would always remain.

“Whilst the next track is playing, I’d like to hear your thoughts on the recent discourse happening over Twitter. Yay or nay? This is Brodie’s new track, playing now…”

He settled back and waited for the lines to ring. He could hold three at once, which was about as many as he could handle. There was a capacity for eight, for those morning well-wishes with Renee or those cash competitions with Allison. Neil didn’t need that many.

The three phones rang: Neil recorded two answers, both _yay_ and _nay,_ which Neil didn’t let himself comment upon, because he’d turn it into a complete shamble, moving to pick up the third line as the others began ringing again.

“So? What’s your answer?”

“Couldn’t care less.” The voice said.

Neil cocked a frown. “So why call?”

“Not sure. Maybe I’m curious about you. I don’t tune into the radio too often, but you seem pretty popular for a new presenter, don’t you?”

“This is entirely off-topic,” Neil said flatly. “I’m going to have to take a different line.”

“Do what you like.” The voice continued. “Though why you willingly put up with those fuckwits who disagree with this discourse is a mystery. You’re being paid regardless.”

Neil settled further into his chair, unable to smother the slight tilt to his lips. “So you agree.”

“Never said that.”

“By proxy, you agree.” Neil grinned. “Thank you for sharing. Indeed, they are insensitive assholes, but this is South Carolina. Not exactly excepting any less.”

“You never answered my question.” The voice leered.

“You never asked one.” Neil rebutted, grinning even wider. “I like my job. I’ll do it properly, money or no money. Speaking of, you’re wasting my time. Song’s nearly over.”

“So cue another.” The voice insisted, in a resigned tone. Neil found himself obeying, fingers moving automatically to cue a long soft-EDM track before settling further into his chair.

“Who did you say you were?” Neil inquired.

“Andrew.”

“Well, hi, Andrew.” Neil said. “I’m Neil.”

There was a moment of silence, before the voice said, abruptly. “The show is good.” before hanging up, effectively rendering Neil silent and in isolation for the next four minutes until the song concluded. It was just enough time to assume his presenting posture, ready to go on-air once more.

Andrew. Hm.

Neil knew it’d never happen, but he wished Andrew would call again.

*


	2. regular

Andrew didn’t want to come across as eager, but -

Talking with Neil had felt natural. Too natural. And _thrilling._ God, Andrew didn’t realise his heart could still go that fast. The idea of the music accidentally being cut and his voice being projected out into the world created a false sense of enthrallment that had his pulse stuttering.

Andrew’s fingers itched for his phone as he drove home the next day. How old was Neil? What did he look like? How’d he find himself hosting a midnight show on a shitty Colombian radio station? He seemed like such an enigma, too big for this awfully tiny place.

The way Andrew was waxing about him was foreign and disturbing. He’d never met this man: He had no clue what he looked like, who he was outside of his work, what kind of morals he had.

Maybe it was the music. Maybe it was just his damned voice.

Either way, Andrew found himself calling the same number, all over again. The phone balanced on his knee as he drove.

“It’s Neil from Mid-Nights, what are your thoughts on the rise in crime in Columbia?”

“Any interesting opinions, as of yet?” Andrew inquired, both genuinely curious (something he wasn’t familiar with) and superficially bored.

“None, as of yet.” The presenter answered.

“Shame.” Andrew drawled.

“I recognise this voice.” Neil answered. “You called me last night, didn’t you? Andrew. I remember.”

“Well done.” Andrew said, letting his tone fall flat. “Would you like an award?”

Neil snorted. “I’d like for callers to remain on topic whilst using up a line, but we can’t all get what we want. We can talk for another two minutes, but it’ll cost you a genuine opinion.”

“Fine.” Andrew grunted. “An ideal government would strive for balanced reputation in order to achieve equitable living standards for its citizens. When everything is balanced, there’s no need for crime.”

“Well - ” Neil coughed. “Theoretically.”

“Theoretically.” Andrew echoed.

“What, was that your thesis?”

“I have a doctorate in communications and criminology, so, pretty much.”

“The hell you doing, driving home at this hour every night with qualifications like that?” Neil asked, almost gentle.

Andrew hated the idea that this stranger pitied him. It made his skin feel too tight, made his body pull taut with tension as his teeth ground together. That was none of Neil’s business, and Andrew thought he should know. “You should get off your fucking high horse, Midnighter. You’re no better than me.” Hanging up was satisfying, but Andrew still felt a little hollow.

He didn’t need random radio presenters reminding him of his shortcomings. He had his family for that.

Neil’s music continued to play softly in the background. Another playlist worthy track. Petty and bitter, Andrew ignored it and shoved his fist into the radio’s controls, turning off the station entirely.

*

Neil leant into the microphone and hoped Andrew could hear his grin.

“To the man who hung up on me last night, fuck you too.” Neil’s voice was too playful to be interpreted as serious. Or so he hoped. “My high-horse had its legs chopped off years ago. I was complimenting you, asshole.”

No one would understand him, but it was alright. He was known for angering people.

Half an hour later, as though Andrew had remained in the driveway listening to the show and deciding whether or not to call up, the phone began to rang. Neil picked it up - too enthusiastically, really - and brought it to his ear.

“It’s Neil from Mid-Nights, how are you?”

“Jack-ass.” Andrew answered. “I don’t need no compliments. Stick to what you’re good at: Being an asshole.”

The dial-tone of being hung-up on (again) made Neil grin.

*

It’d been two weeks. Andrew had run through most of his call credit, seeing as he rarely used it in the first place. The conversations were never longer than a few minutes, but the fragmented moments strung together and formed something so rare, so niche, that Andrew had to wonder at himself: What in fuck’s name did he think he was doing?

“I hope this’ll help wake you all from your long-drive stupors.” Neil’s voice, deceptively sweet, laughed into the microphone. “Nothing like some solid distortion solos to get you feeling alive. Oh, and I’m expecting a call. You know who you are.”

“Asshole.” Andrew grunted, cocking his head to the side as he pulled up at a red light. 

Black in Black started blasting from his speakers, unintentionally. Andrew scoffed, squashing down the remnants of his grin, and rolled down the windows. 

He didn’t call Neil till the song had faded into something along the lines of Elton John, not wanting to give Neil the satisfaction of being at his beck and call. 

Neil paid him back the favour, almost letting the call ring out before snatching up the line on its last breath. 

“You’re getting stingy.” Neil complained. “I figured out you get off shift at three. Why the half an hour of time wasted?”

“Making you wait is half the fun.” Andrew rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a creep and go working out my schedule with too little knowledge and too good perceptions. It’s weird.”

“Observations keep me alive and kicking. You like my song choice?”

Neil queued another two songs after Bennie and the Jets so they could talk and Andrew didn’t even mind. He was sure he’d never willingly spent this much time with even his own family.

“You know,” Neil offered, a hint of hesitation in his voice that Andrew’d never heard before. “I could - uh, I could give you my -”

“Spit it out, Josten.”

He could _hear_ Neil’s scowl. “I can’t if you keep interrupting me!” He let out a disgruntled huff. “Well, I just thought - maybe I could give you my personal number.” 

Andrew hummed. “For what purpose?”

“To get to know you better.” Neil said, the blunt confidence returning to his voice. “If that was something you’d be interesting. Or am I just a welcomed blip in the routine?” 

“Do whatever you want. I couldn’t care less.” Andrew lied. 

Neil laughed softly. “Goodnight, Andrew.”

“Night.” 

*

Andrew stood outside the staff entrance letting the smoke curl in his mouth before letting it seep out from between his lips. He’d always broken his breaks up into ten-minute chunks to keep up the flow of nicotine. No one usually spoke to him or acknowledged him. 

Usually. 

Roland, his consistent hook-up over the past six months, leaned against the door to keep it closed. Andrew could appreciate the low-cut sleeveless shirt and the arms folded across the man’s chest. Andrew had left bruises in the shape of his chain necklace when Roland asked him to: He knew Roland wanted something more permanent than what he was willing to give. 

“You’ve been distant.” Roland supplied. 

Andrew flicked ash in his direction, a warning in and of itself. Roland merely rolled his eyes and dropped his arms, opening his palms as an offer. 

That was how it always happened: They had five, ten minutes to spare. There was nothing better to do. Andrew was going through the motions: Going to work, serving drunk fuckwits, smoking in silence, giving Roland head to shut him up, repeat. 

When the other man gasped “We should go out to dinner some time,” Andrew pinched the skin of his thigh. Roland’s hand flew out to stabilise himself against the table-top, effectively hitting the small radio player that worked constantly. 

He must have knocked the frequencies, because Neil’s pearlescent laughter filled the room and Andrew had never felt more disgusted: In himself, in this, in everything. The visceral hatred for his existence was only a glimmer, a fragmented moment, but it was enough to have him stumbling away, shoving his hands through his hair and digging his fingers into his temples. 

“Andrew?” Roland managed. 

“I’m going home.” He snapped, shoving his hands into his pockets. He found his phone and his keys, slamming the staff-entrance door behind him. 

Sitting in the driver’s seat, he looked at his phone again. Looked at the text from an unknown number that he’d read but not answered. 

_hey this is neils number._

He swallowed against the cotton wad in his throat and typed out an answer. _when do you finish?_

neil was quick to respond. _four am every morning. aren’t you still on shift?_

Andrew rested his forehead against the steering-wheel and tried to ignore the way his heart raced. _left early._

Neil took over five minutes to answer. Andrew didn’t want to turn on the radio and hear his voice, so he waited. His patience was rewarded a little while later. 

_bring me coffee? black, no sugar, no milk. itd be nice to finally see you._

Andrew shoved down the desire to smile instinctively, hating the unfamiliar twitch to his lips. _with a coffee order like that, i’d rather run for the hills._

 _shame._ Neil answered. _see you soon?_

Andrew was a goner, shoving his keys into the ignition as he typed out a hasty reply. 

_yeah. see you soon._

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry if it seems disjointed! i posted this on tumblr in bits and pieces lol


	3. closer

The first time Andrew stopped by Neil’s recording studio, FM-OX Studios, it was a brief moment of panic. He had a coffee in each hand, and buzzed his studio with his elbow. The door made a beeping noise and slid open for him, and he was confronted by the dark inners of a radio station. 

It occurred to him that despite his qualifications in media and communications, he’d never traversed into a real station. The reception desk was empty, the stairwell behind it scarcely lit. Andrew could still see the various photos, awards and promotional posters. It was odd connecting faces to voices: He hadn’t expected to recognise any of them, but one photo had him standing still. 

Kevin and a middle aged man with full sleeve tattoos were standing side-by-side at some sort of award ceremony. Kevin held an award. They shared the same tight-lipped smile and shadowed gaze, Kevin’s dark hair a youthful version of the man’s grey streaks. 

Andrew would ask Kevin about it, if he remotely cared about anything to do with Kevin’s strange realm of fame and glamour. The intrigue passed like a cold chill and Andrew kept moving up the stairs with no more than a disinterested huff.

He sidled past various closed offices and let himself into the main recording studio. 

It only occurred to him as he looked through the com-glass that he’d never realised how insane this was. Yes, Neil was a public figure, and if anything happened to Andrew, records of their calls would be on the working phones and presumably recorded in this public space. 

Still, Andrew had no idea what the man looked like. There was almost nothing on FM-OX’s online page on him, and there were certainly no photos of him. Andrew wasn’t going to know if he acted differently whilst on and off air. Andrew had almost no information on him, so what the fuck did he think he was doing, waltzing in like this? 

And then Andrew had looked through the glass. 

There he sat. Sitting under only the light of a lampshade, face illuminated by a programming screen as his hands moved across a soundboard. A phone sat to his left, and his hand tapped nervously by it, as if waiting for bad news. 

Movement through the glass had Neil looking to where Andrew was stood, frozen. A look of slight shock flit across the man’s face and he stood to let Andrew into the recording studio, taking the coffee from Andrew’s free hand. 

He was barely taller than Andrew was. 

“Hi,” He said, a little mesmerised that Andrew was actually there. 

Andrew only had to take one look at his decadent red curls, the dazzling blue eyes and distorted scars across his cheeks and hands before knowing he was absolutely fucked. 

_Shit._

*

Neil cocked his head to the side as he considered Andrew, who dozed lightly in an armchair he’d dragged into the studio with his feet up on the recording desk. 

It wasn’t the first time Andrew had come in: He’d been here upwards of a dozen times by now. Neil was no less perplexed by the man, who spent most of his nights tending one of Columbia’s downtown bars. 

Neil had actually looked into the man’s qualifications. He’d come through at the top of his class and denied various offers for positions in news presenting and show hosting on various stations across the east coast, as far north and prestigious as New York. Andrew even turned down down a Los Angeles placement that would have put him on a path akin to Kevin Day’s. 

Neil was at a loss about the man. He never talked about presenting. He never considered a different life other than the one he’d garnered and bartered for. 

Really, Neil couldn’t quite pin down what they spent their time talking about. All Neil knew was that it was easy, just as entertaining as it had been over the phone. Andrew listened in on the phone calls with him and made rude remarks under his breath, of which Neil muted but wished he could keep on air. 

With November brought the holiday season, which always left Neil feeling a little hollow. Dan and Matt had invited him to spend Thanksgiving at theirs, but it felt like a little more than an intrusion: Neil still couldn’t see himself as their awkward, flighty coworker that they put up with because they didn’t have much of a choice. Radio didn’t stop for the holidays, but they’d insisted that he should put a pre-record on for the night and stay over. 

It lead him to some intriguing topics of conversation. Who was going to see their families for the holidays? Who’s family drama was the most insidious? What awful gifts have you received? What are you thankful for?

Neil talked about these on air, but the most coveted discussions were those with Andrew. Andrew, who looked at Neil from under his lashes as he let his fingers brush over the soundboard. Andrew, who texted Neil songs he’d found that fit the theme or style of Neil’s show. Andrew, who was both brutally honest and impossible to read. 

“What about you?” Neil asked one evening, letting his microphone go on mute as Billy Joel began playing. Andrew didn’t look at him or even acknowledge he’d spoken aside from the arch of a singular eyebrow. “What are your holiday plans?”

“My mother died when I was sixteen, I never knew my father, I havdn’t spoken to my brother since he moved to Chicago for med-school and my cousin lives away from his God-fearing parents in Germany with his husband.” Andrew said, spinning the Rubic’s cube in his hand. “Does that give you a clear enough answer?”

Neil hummed. “My father got locked up for life because of various reasons. My mother’s death was one of them. My only relations run gang operations between France and England. I think we’ve got the same sentiment there.”

Andrew finally stopped his fiddling and graced Neil with a heady gaze. “Let’s not talk about family.” 

“Let’s not.” Neil agreed. 

Andrew’s fingers reached out: They only just managed to brush gently across the scars on Neil’s cheek, the ones where his father and his assistant had cut bloody revenge onto his face for speaking out against him. 

Neil smiled hesitantly with the odd gentleness in Andrew’s touch. Censure passed between them, until Andrew jerked his hand away like Neil’s skin was scalding to the touch. 

The odd moment passed, being one of many. Eventually, he found that Andrew’s presence made his shifts pass quicker than normal: The toughest hours were the last, when exhaustion began to settle in. Andrew brought good coffee and quiet conversation, filling up the dark space that always swathed Neil whilst hosting. 

It’d been a long while since routine like this, involving and revolving around someone else, had felt comfortable, rather than paranoia inducing or guilt-inspiring. 

Neil put it down to the loneliness of the night shift, and assumed Andrew was there for the same reasons. 

*

“You should co-host with me one night.” Neil suggested, as they turned off the lights of the studio and checked the pre-recorded hour of music would carry over until Renee’s morning show. 

Andrew was particularly lethargic that night: He’d been growing more accustomed to the later schedules and was almost fully nocturnal at this point. But that night at Eden’s had been particularly gruelling, the slowness of the evening as people became more reluctant to go out due to the weather and the holidays. 

That was the _only_ reason Andrew gave a half-hearted shrug, rather than a flat out no. It wasn’t that he’d already entertained the thought. It wasn’t that he’d watched the way Neil came alive when recommending music and talking to various callers, letting his sharp tongue kiss the cheek of death as he pointed out prejudices and subjective opinions. 

Neil’s hesitant smile was practically too good to deny. 

But being a co-host meant being administered into the payroll of Wymack’s various presenters. His studio wasn’t loosely run, but it wasn’t exactly a commandeered ship either: Andrew’s presence had been mostly unnoticed for about a month and a half. 

Six weeks, since Andrew had first walked in with coffee. Six weeks had been all it took for Neil to work up the nerve to ask him to present alongside him. Like presenting was a taboo between them, when they were together exclusively whilst Neil hosted his show. Andrew didn’t hate journalism and presenting. He couldn’t find enough interest in it to hate it. 

Andrew did hate Neil, though. He hated that he’d wormed his way past Andrew’s exterior and persisted, until Andrew’s resolve crumbled and Neil could see all of his ugly truths and scars. 

“I told Wymack I want to bring on an irregular co-host. That I’ve already found one.” Neil continued. 

“Didn’t think to ask me first?”

Neil raised his chin. “You can say no.” 

“Shut up.” Andrew muttered, angrier at himself than anyone else. If Kevin found out about this, Andrew was moving to New Zealand and studying fairy penguins for the rest of his life. “Fine.”

It’d only be temporary. Nothing more. 

“I thought that was my line.” Neil snarked, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. He looked relaxed. Andrew really wanted to lean over and kiss him. 

_Oh,_ he thought vaguely. It wasn’t a new desire, but it’d never been so definite. _That’s new._

“Fuck off, Josten.” 

Neil only snorted.

He looked back to the phone that sat on Neil’s desk, and wished he’d never fucking called in the first place. 

*


	4. risks

Wymack settled into his chair. He well trusted Neil by now, but Minyard had a reputation that precedented him, so Wymack wouldn’t let the man derail the show with his presence. 

He hadn’t told Kevin about Andrew’s sudden and startling reappearance yet: He knew his son would grow too fanatic and overenthusiastic, and probably put Andrew off all over again. Wymack looked into the man’s credentials: His behavioural record was tarnished to all hell, but every one of his grades had been stellar. It was baffling enough that the name _Minyard_ had remained, lodged in his brain, until Neil had finally admitted who he wanted to co-host.

It was a Tuesday evening, already hitting close to midnight. Through the glass Neil was setting up, the routine old hat by now, but Andrew was lounging in a chair he seemed too familiar with, a lolly-pop in his mouth. 

Wymack leaned into his soundboard and spoke into the comm. “You sure you’ve never been here, Minyard?”

The candy came out of his mouth with a pop. “Nope.” Neil sent Minyard a quiet smile and jostled his shoulder gently. Minyard flipped him off. 

_I’m too old for this._

‘This’ entailed: Obvious, middle-school flirting and being away past ten o’clock, both of which Wymack’d had enough of to last the rest of his presumably short lifespan. 

He simply shook his head and settled further into the chair to watch the slow as it went live. 

“Welcome back to Mid-Nights, with me, the same person who’s been hosting this show for months and yet still repeats his name, Neil Josten.” He grinned into the microphone and winked at Wymack, who rolled his eyes. Minyard mirrored him. Maybe Andrew would be the one to finally tame Josten’s shitty attitude. “But guess what? There’s someone else here with me today, cohosting tonight.”

“It’ll be a one-off event, undoubtedly.” Minyard said into his mike. 

“Am I introducing you?”

“You dragged me on here, junkie.”

“I did, didn’t I. Cohosting with me tonight is Andrew Minyard, who’s got some new music and absolutely scathing opinions to share with you all. It’s a pleasure to have you here, ‘Drew.”

“Call me that again and I’ll sew your lips shut.”

Neil just laughed. 

Wymack didn’t have to worry. Neil seemed well versed in conversing with Andrew, who, despite his misgivings, was very good at what he did: Things ran incredibly smoothly, to the point that Wymack realised it was ridiculous that he was here. Of course, he needed to assess Minyard to see if he was up to a permanent gig if he ever wanted one, but Neil easily had it under control. Minyard was way too familiar with the space, the boards and controls: He had to have been here prior, but Wymack wasn’t going to ask.

They made a good pair, Wymack thought. He wondered what they’d say if he offered them a prime-time spot. 

It hit about two-thirty in the morning and Wymack hit the comm button mid-way through a song. “I’m going home. Congrats, Minyard. You better not have razed my studio to the ground by the time I get back here in a few hours.”

“Can’t make any promises.” The pint-sized man muttered. Wymack simply shook his head and tucked his chair under his desk, shoving his notes into his bag and filing out with his keys hanging off his ring finger. 

It could just work. Neil and Andrew in evening peak-hour, the most promising intern Robin running graveyard shifts, and Allison moving up and out to the news broadcasting position she’d been offered. 

It all fit together, like a hideous puzzle. Wymack didn’t mind: He’d keep adding pieces and making the FM-OX network a home for his kids.

*

“How’d you like that?” Neil insisted, forever obsessed with his work. Andrew rolled his eyes, standing up and pushing the chair under his desk. “It was good, wasn’t it?”

“You can’t think you’ll successfully entertain me with your own obsessive tendencies.”

“Fine.” Neil challenged. “I’ll let you drop me home if we go to Sweeties on the way.” 

Andrew narrowed his eyes. Neil didn’t give in to an argument so easily, especially not one that had been consistent over the past few weeks. Neil, as Andrew eventually discovered, walked home in the dead of the night after his show. Like the reckless idiot he was. As if his striking features and scars didn’t draw enough attention to him: He deliberately put himself in harms way so often, and so carelessly, that Andrew wondered what kind of childhood he must have endured to be so infuriatingly reckless. 

He’d asked Neil why he was so obviously flippant about himself. Neil had retorted with a sharp “I do care. I just can’t trust anyone to look out for me in my stead.” 

“Can’t, or won’t?” Andrew offered. Neil, in a particularly bitter mood that day, had said nothing else. 

Now Neil was letting Andrew drop him home. He had to want something. 

“Only if you get me fries and ice cream.”

“Pl - Don’t put them together. I’ll be sick.”

Andrew noticed the way he caught himself before saying ‘please’. It was the little things about Neil that had him stumbling over himself as he fell deeper and deeper into the hole that was being attracted to Neil Josten, when he realised that Neil adhered to _every_ one of his boundaries. 

“Funnily enough, I couldn’t give less of a shit. Let’s go, Josten.”

They’d queued good music on the station in their absence and listened to it whilst Andrew drove with the windows down, careening into Sweeties’ drive-through. Neil had a small smile playing across his lips, curls fluttering in the breeze. When the car rolled to a stop his cheeks were flushed red, looking utterly windswept. Andrew had to avert his eyes. 

Neil ordered for him, seeing as he’d spent the past four hours talking intermittently - more than he’d ever had to before, but also surprisingly easy when it was with Neil. 

The other man said just what Andrew was thinking as they sat in the parking lot, Andrew dipping curly fries into strawberry ice-cream and Neil breathing in the steam from his black coffee. 

“And to think this all happened because you called me one night.” Neil muttered, a teasing sparkle in his eye. 

“You were confounding enough to keep my interest.” Andrew said dismissively. 

“Am I still? Confounding?”

Yes and no. Andrew felt like he knew nothing about Neil. He’d known Neil did a course with Kevin and got into FM-OX through Kevin’s connections. He knew he didn’t talk to his family, that his scars were a premeditated attack from someone he knew. He knew Neil liked the colour grey and fruit and obscure, unknown musicians and the radio and that he didn’t celebrate his birthday. He didn’t have a car and liked going for jogs in the morning and took his coffee plain black and had moved around a lot as a kid. Neil was smart enough to entertain anyone on a specific topic, but he never let on that he knew more than he should for some scrawny young guy in the middle of a scrappy South Carolinian city. 

Other than that, Andrew had nothing. Neil was like water between his fingers: Cool, refreshing, but impossible to get a grasp on. 

“You’re still irritating.” Andrew answered. Neil just snorted and drank his coffee. “You haven’t eaten and definitely shouldn’t be drinking coffee at this hour.”

“I can take care of myself,” Neil argued, hiding behind his cup. 

“Clearly.” Andrew grunted, shoving the car into reverse once he’d finished and pulled out of the empty parking lot. 

Neil’s home was relatively close to FM-OX studios, a decrepit looking doorway between two crusty shop-fronts that lead to studio apartments that looked down on the street. Neil clambered out but turned around and leaned back into the car with a shit-eating grin. 

“I had a good time, ‘Drew.” Like he was dropping Neil home from a date. Should he walk him to the door? Kiss him on his doorstep? How horrifically cliché. 

Andrew scowled. “Don’t get comfortable, junkie.”

Neil _winked._ The fucking bastard winked. “Keep an eye out for a call from Wymack. He might just have an offer that’ll be too good to resist. See you soon, Minyard.” The car door slammed behind him. 

Andrew was too late, distracted by watching Neil in his jeans and button-down walk to the front door of his apartment block, but still muttered “Fucking asshole.” like Neil was still there to hear him. 

He thought he’d be exhausted, but he was fucking wired beyond belief. Even when he laid on his bed upon arriving home, he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. Sleeping would reset the day. And Andrew wouldn’t admit this to anyone, not even to himself: 

He didn’t want it to end. 

*


	5. think on that

Neil awoke to a rapping on his front door: Momentarily scared shitless, he scrambled out of bed, wished he had a gun, but resorted for a sweater over his thin white t-shirt and padded out into the hallway.

He glanced through the peephole and immediately unlocked the door.

“Andrew?” It was a Saturday night. Eight pm. Andrew was already meant to be at work. “What are you doing here?”

Silent, he nudged his way inside Neil’s flat and continued down the hallway. How he even knew what floor Neil lived on was a mystery: He locked the door anyway and tucked his hands into their sleeves, following Andrew out into his living room.

The man in question was gazing around with mild distaste, and Neil flushed. “How long have you lived here?”

“Almost a year.” He wiped sleep from his eyes and tried to flatten his hair. “I know, it looks empty and lifeless. Dan and Matt never shut up about it: It’s why they got me the rug. I just don’t see the need for material possessions.”

Andrew’s foot nudged the rug in question. It was blue and fluffy, with odd shapes. Neil liked it: It was soft.

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here to judge my home.” Neil said flatly, crossing his arms. “I have to leave for work in half an hour anyway. Speaking of, shouldn’t you be at yours?”

Andrew looked out onto the balcony, where there was only a plastic chair and a bowl for cigarette butts. “I got there. Then left.”

“Andrew, what’s wrong?” Neil stepped a little closer.

He took out his phone, pressed a few buttons, and then held the thing so carelessly Neil though it’d fall out of his hand.

“ _Andrew. It’s Wymack. I want you and Neil in the prime weekday slots, every evening. I’ll give you until Friday to give me an answer.”_

Neil sighed. “I told you to keep an open mind.”

“You told me to keep an eye out.” Andrew reminded him. “That did not entail getting hounded.”

Neil simply glared. “One voicemail isn’t hounding. All you need to do is think on it: It’s an opportunity. One you shouldn’t miss.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about Wymack.” Andrew reached out and curled his fingers into the collar of Neil’s shirt. Neil wasn’t scared. “You’re the problem. I don’t know what to do with you.”

“What, because I believe in you?” Neil accused.

Andrew’s brow furrowed as he leaned closer, lips turned into a snarl.

“Have you always been so self-destructive?” Neil wondered. “Because you always act preemptively, as though the world is out to get you. Did it ever occur to you that -”

Andrew shoved a hand over his mouth. “Shut up. Yes or no?”

“Am I shutting up or answering the question?” Neil spoke through his fingers: Andrew removed his hand to pinch Neil’s chin between his forefinger and his thumb.

“I hate you.” Andrew growled, leaning up to press a bruising kiss to Neil’s lips. It was chaste, Andrew retreated just as abruptly as he’d arrived, but he was warm, his skin softer than Neil expected. Neil wasn’t sure what he expected but it really wasn’t this. He kept his hands balled into fists at his side, an unbeknownst suspicion that this all rested very gently on a scale of Andrew’s tolerance: Getting handsy would be the last thing Andrew wanted.

“Think on that.” He said blithely, and marched out of Neil’s flat.

He stood, blinking like a goldfish, unable to rid himself of the memory of Andrew’s lips upon his own. It’d been unexpected but not unwelcomed.

Neil didn’t have time to dwell on it now. He had to get to work.

*

Wymack had rectangular frames perched on the tip of his nose as he looked down a schedule, pinned to his clipboard. Neil manned Allison’s lines, sitting cross-legged on an office chair whilst he fiddled with the sound board and managed the contestants across two different phones.

Dan, having just completed her hourly news update, was perusing the news for more. She was lounging across the well-worn loveseat in the sound studio, humming gently as she searched.

Allison held a contest every friday evening, something pop-culture related that Neil didn’t particularly care about. He was there to accumulate contestants to participate and queue music as Allison grilled her latest victims on their ignorance.

“Anything?” Neil asked, when one woman was on hold.

Wymack looked at him and shook his head.

Neil hummed softly, displeased. It was Friday, the window Wymack having provided for Andrew closing rapidly. Neil had suspected that there had been more truth to his words on Saturday than he’d initially suspected: Now he’d pushed Andrew away. 

It was fine. He didn’t need to be the centre of attention anyway, nor did he need the pay rise. 

And yet - 

Hosting with Andrew had felt natural. Everything about Andrew had felt natural, from teasing over the phone when he called in, meeting him for the first time, meeting up with his the dozens of times afterwards, and then finally sitting across from one another at the sound booth and spending hours talking about anything and everything, good music filling the not-awkward silences between conversations. 

The door slammed open, and Neil couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he glanced over his shoulder. Speak of the damned devil. 

“Don’t fucking look at me like that.” Andrew warned. “If Kevin finds out about this I’m quitting.”

Wymack rolled his eyes, going back to his clipboard. Dan didn’t have the same caliber of indifference, glaring at Andrew with abject distaste. “Minyard? Is that really you?”

“The one and only.” Wymack grunted. 

“Can someone explain why the psycho freak from college is here in our station studio?”

“Neil’s leaving with me.” Andrew said, aptly ignoring Dan’s confusion. “Give him the night off.” 

“Thank god.” Wymack acknowledged. “I can’t get rid of him.”

“I don’t need to -” Neil protested, but it was too late: Andrew had hooked his fingers in the sleeve of his jumper and dragged him towards the door. 

Neil let himself be funnelled into Andrew’s car, which was sleek and far more expensive than his salary would permit. They’d both agreed on don’t-talk-about-past rule, but maybe there would need to be a little more censure if there was going to be a _this._

“What are we doing?” Neil inquired lightly, intrigued. When Andrew didn’t answer, he twisted in his seat to look at him. “Come on.”

“Shut up.” Andrew said, lacking his usual edge. Neil hummed, switching on the radio and settling into his chair. 

Allison’s voice filled the space between them as she introduced a new song. Or, an old song.

“We can’t start the weekend right without some Mac, can we?” 

Neil pushed his knuckles into his lip, trying not to laugh as the music filtered out of Andrew’s speakers. 

_tell me, tell me, tell me lies:_

_tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies_

“She thinks she’s funny.” Andrew huffed. 

“She _knows_ she’s funny.” Neil objected. Andrew simply responded with a dismissive flick of his fingers. 

They swerved into the parking lot of a HomeDepot, which was close to closing. Neil dawdled behind Andrew and his trolley, ignoring the man as he picked out a lamp and a fluffy blanket. The trolley filled with stuff like cutlery and mugs, candles and photo-frames. 

Only when Andrew paused by the throw pillows did Neil ask what the hell the man thought he was doing. 

“I’m trying to decide which pillow matches your rug more.”

Neil gave him a quizzical look. 

“You’ve been living in that place for a year and it feels like a storage unit. Choose.” He pointed between two square pillows that were pretty much the same, and when Neil started fighting him, he chose instead. Neil tittered angrily all the way to the counter. 

“Keep whining and I’ll make you pay.” Andrew warned. 

Then Neil threw a fit about Andrew paying _for his own house decor,_ but he was having none of it, pinching Neil’s wrist when he reached for his wallet. 

“You guys are adorable.” The cashier commented, sheepishly apprehensive when Andrew turned a glare on her. Neil gave her an apologetic shrug when Andrew stalked off, running after him. 

“This really was unnecessary,” Neil started again. 

Andrew pointed a butter knife they’d bought at him. “Quiet.”

“But -” 

“ _Shh_.”

Neil huffed. 

*

Andrew had pretended not to notice Neil’s stares all evening. The way his gaze had changed since last Saturday. He didn’t want to point it out. Pointing it out was acknowledging that something was different and that they should act on it, and right now Andrew could only deal with one major change at a time. 

Namely, his job. 

After all this time avoiding presenting, he’d upped and got himself a prime-time slot anyway. It was a curse. 

The shitty movie they’d been watching dawdled to a close, credits scrolling down the screen. Neil was fast asleep on the couch beside Andrew, tiny snores infuriatingly adorable. 

They’d gone out to HomeDepot, then come home and set everything up. It was, in Andrew’s humble opinion, far better. Neil had photos for the frames, tucked away in a drawer, and Andrew had lit the candles to smother the scent of mildew with something more fresh. 

They’d ordered takeout, queued a movie, and spent the almost two hours paying absolutely no attention to it. Neil’s eyes had barely moved off Andrew’s cheek, and Andrew was zoned out completely, shocked by how comfortable this domesticity was. 

He’d like to have blamed chance for having this all work out, but he didn’t believe in fate. He’d picked up that phone and called Neil’s radio station. He’d rocked up after his shift with coffee and zero expectations. He’d chosen to come back, time and time again, just to see the knowing glint in his blue eyes. 

Now he was here. 

“Josten,” He said quietly. Neil stirred but didn’t wake, shifting in his sleep. 

Andrew sighed, getting up from the couch and collecting empty containers. Neil was still asleep by the time everything was clean, despite Andrew’s efforts to be loud. He had to be truly exhausted: He’d mentioned once he was a light sleeper. 

Carefully, he fitted Neil’s head against his shoulder and scooped up his legs with his other arm, slowly traversing over to Neil’s room. Andrew had never been in here, cautious as he shouldered the room open. 

Careful, gentle, cautious: None of these words could be used to describe Andrew. And yet, it was all he could fathom being, laying Neil down on his bed. 

His room was a little messy. Untidy sheets, a sock hanging off the washing basket, oddities strayed across surfaces. Scar cream, cologne, deodorant, a pair of running shoes peeking out from under the bed frame. Andrew shut the grey curtains and toed out of the room, refusing to look back at Neil’s sleeping figure before he left. 

This was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help himself. 

_Let yourself heal,_ Betsy had once said. 

_Look at me now, Bee,_ he thought scathingly, giving the apartment a once over before he left. _Finally proud?_

_*_

That night, Andrew couldn’t sleep. He’d already quit at the bar, but he wasn’t starting at FM-OX until Monday. Neil’s last night shift was tonight, seeing as Wymack wanted him to get a full night’s rest tomorrow night for Monday. 

He laid on his bed until the thought of trying to sleep had his scars itching, so he got up and snatched his car keys from the bench. 

He didn’t bother with shoes but pulled on an extra hoodie, pattering down the stairs till he arrived at the garage. The smell of leather lacquer and fuel was comforting. He let himself sit in the driver’s seat for a little while, till he grew bored and started the engine. 

He had a quarter of a tank left: He’d drive till he needed to refill before going home. At first the silence, underlined only by the muffled roars of the engine, was cleansing. As always, he found his fingers reaching for the radio dial. 

“…You all better be safe out on the roads right now, going to or coming home from work.” Neil said. “Don’t need to be doing traffic reports at this hour, do I? Anyway, this next track is by a brand-new artist, heralding from Augustus, our neighbouring city…”

Andrew let the tension bleed out of him as Neil’s voice washed over him. By the time he’d filled up the tank and driven back to the garage, he was well sleepy, and had been listening to Neil for hours. 

Before he could even acknowledge what he was doing, he was on the phone to FM-OX’s line, his phone at his ear. 

“Neil Josten’s Mid-Nights,” Neil opened. 

“Goodnight, junkie.” Andrew muttered. 

The man’s voice softened. “Andrew. Hey.”

“You’ve got that look on you, don’t you. Quit it.”

“Rude.” Neil snorted. “Goodnight, Andrew.”

Andrew hummed and hung up, clambering out of the car. 

He’d be lying to himself if he said Neil’s voice wasn’t comforting. He tuned into the chanel from his phone, put it on charge, and let the mellifluous tones lull him to sleep.

*


	6. call back

Neil woke on Monday morning - _the_ Monday morning - and could hardly contain himself. He still wasn’t used to all the new things in his place and stubbed his toe on the cabinet at the end of his bed, hopping to the bathroom. He kept the temperature of the shower at scalding and washed his hair, unsure why he was rushing. 

He had the evening show. It was nine in the morning. This behaviour was ridiculous and nonsensical at best: If Andrew saw him like this he’d tug on Neil’s hair and tell him he was an imbecile. 

Fuck, the kiss. That was the _other_ thing Neil had been thinking obsessively over. He hadn’t seen Andrew since Friday, when he’d taken him to Home Depot and then carried him to bed when he’d fallen asleep on the couch, because he was an idiot and liked to waste the precious time he and Andrew had together. He’d told Neil to think about the kiss, and Neil _had,_ but it was impossible to figure any of this shit out without actually seeing the man. He’d never felt like this about someone before. His mom would have insisted he was an idiot for being so preoccupied by someone else.

Maybe he was. Fuck it. He’d dealt with enough bullshit in his life: It was about time he found something to appreciate. Dear old Nathan was in prison for life and anyone who was loyal to him were behind bars too. Or dead. Neil didn’t have to do anything except what he wanted to do. 

And yeah, maybe dealing with Kevin dredged up old ghosts, but Neil probably wouldn’t have been able to get a prime-time show without him. 

Not that he’d ever admit it. 

He’d zoned out long enough that he missed the insistent buzzing of his phone as it rang out. He’d missed Andrew’s call. Immediately dialling back, he rose the phone to his ear and wandered out to the kitchen for breakfast. 

“You missed my call.” Andrew said, pointedly. 

“Was a little zoned out.” Neil admitted, measuring grounds for a pot of coffee. “Morning to you too, Andrew.”

The man hummed. “Was just checking you didn’t have an aneurysm due to over-excitement.”

“Can you blame me?” He demanded.

“Yes.” Andrew said. Neil snorted. “Good to know you’re alive. Bye.” 

“Wait -!” Neil hesitated, but Andrew hadn’t hung up. He smiled absently. “See you soon, Andrew.” 

The man merely sighed and hung up. Neil’s lips twisted into a grin and he sipped on his coffee. It tasted like shit, but for once, Neil couldn’t care less.

*

“You’ll do great!” Dan stage-whispered as she filed out of the recording studio, having just finished her 5 o’clock news segment. Neil gave her an appraising look and slid on his headphones. 

Andrew watched him carefully. He must have been buzzing about this all day by the tone of his voice when he’d called Neil earlier, but they’d both arrived half an hour ago and Neil was calm and confident. Ready. It was a good look on him. 

Neil still hadn’t said anything about the kiss. Andrew was happy to ignore it if he was, but he couldn’t shake the memory of Neil curling against his shoulder when Andrew had lifted him to take him to bed. 

He’d get over it. He had no choice.

Neil arched an eyebrow at Andrew’s gaze. Andrew slouched lower into his chair and grunted “Staring,” because he was a massive fucking hypocrite. Andrew didn’t give a shit about all of this, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted by Neil, not now. He couldn’t fuck Neil’s first prime show up. It’s not that he cared. He just couldn’t. 

Wymack signalled the countdown from behind the glass. Neil let his Cheshire grin curl, sparking the warmth in Andrew’s chest. 

“Ready?” He asked. 

“Junkie.” Andrew scolded. 

Wymack snapped his fingers. “And - you’re live!” 

*

“Andrew,” Neil called out. The man was running down the studio’s stairs as soon as the clock struck eleven, like some fucked up Cinderella. “Andrew?”

He paused only briefly to glance over his shoulder. “Show’s over, Josten.” 

“I’m aware.” He caught up to where Andrew was stood and held out his hand, not touching. “That last song you queued. The Brodie song. That was from when you first called me, wasn’t it?” 

“It’s just a song, Neil.” He crossed his arms: Neil did _not_ shiver when his fingers accidentally brushed over Neil’s chest. 

“When will you admit to yourself that this is something?” He demanded, gesturing around them. The staircase was lined with photographs of various shows and hosts and awards and posters of events. It was an homage to FM-OX that Neil was only a small part of but was willing to explore. 

He just wanted Andrew at his back. 

“It’s nothing to a man who’s not interested.” Andrew’s tone was devoid of inflection but Neil could read the apprehension in his eyes.

“I never said I wasn’t.” Neil accused. They’d barely seen each other since when Andrew had kissed him. Way to jump to conclusions, Neil thought. Asshole. “If you asked, I’d say yes.”

“To keep me complacent for your little radio show?” He snapped. 

Neil felt that like a backhand across his cheek. “Fuck you. I’d _never_ do something against your will. And fuck you for thinking I’d use you just to climb the ladder. You should know me better than that by now.” 

Andrew considered him with an appraising look, scouting down and up again. For what, Neil hadn’t a clue. Whatever he found satisfied him: He dropped his arms from where they were crossed over his chest and walked Neil to the stairwell’s opposing wall: taking Neil’s hands, he pinned them to the handrail that dug into Neil’s hip. 

“I do know you better than that.” He cocked his head, so close that Neil could smell the spearmint nicotine gum he’d been chewing as his eyes glittered. “You never answered my question.” 

Just like the first time he’d called in. 

Neil grinned, recalling his rebuttal. “You never asked one.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Yes or no?”

Neil brushed their lips together in lieu of an answer and Andrew responded by stepping flush to Neil’s chest, kissing back with a ferociousness that Neil expected and was enthralled by. Everything to do with Andrew was thrilling. His hands stayed over Neil’s, pressed into the handrail, but their fingers linked together inexplicably as Andrew kissed him absolutely senseless. 

Neil was breathless by the time Andrew leaned back, eyes fluttering open. His lips curled a little upwards as he leaned to Andrew’s ear and whispered: “Well done. Would you like an award?” 

“I hate you.” Andrew hissed. 

Neil could only grin. “You’re the one who called back.” 

*


End file.
